


Held Under

by atlanticslide



Series: Coming Up for Air [1]
Category: Redwater (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlanticslide/pseuds/atlanticslide
Summary: ”Stay together, lads.”





	Held Under

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/gifts).



_”Stay together, lads.”_

There’s loads of people around, police and neighbors and Granddad standing behind them and everyone’s shouting, so much noise, and the worst part of it all is how absolutely silent Kieran is. Andrew can’t bear to look at him, but he’s got Kieran’s hand clutched tightly in his own and he doesn’t let go even when Dad comes bounding over to throw his arms around him. 

“You’re alright?” Dad asks, frantic and out of breath. “You boys alright?” He takes a step back, grips Andrew’s shoulders tight as he looks them both over.

Andrew’s about to be sick, but he nods silently and squeezes Kieran’s hand harder. Dad shucks his coat off and throws it around the both of them - it smells terrible, like a sheep’s backside, but Kieran’s shaking something awful, so Andrew throws one arm around him to bring them closer together and tugs the coat more tightly around them with his free hand. He very nearly turns to wrap his arms fully around Kieran; wants, impulsively, to bury his face against Kieran’s neck and feel his damp skin.

Before he gets the chance, though, he hears Kieran suck in a loud breath.

Andrew looks up to see Auntie Eileen running towards them across the beach, her feet kicking up sand in her wake, with Uncle Sean following close behind her.

“Kieran, my god, you’re alright!” she shouts when she gets near enough to reach out and grab Kieran, pulling him away from Andrew. She pulls him into a fierce hug, rests her cheek on the top of his head and closes her eyes, and Kieran remains silent. 

“Where’s Mouse?” Uncle Sean asks, first to Kieran and then to Granddad, standing nearby and looking grim. “Where’s Mouse? _Where’s Mouse?_ ”

“Sean…” Granddad starts. He sounds grave, tired, _old_ \- something he never really is - just in that one word. 

It’s strange how slow everything seems to go for a moment. Slow and quiet and agonizing in a strangely disembodied sort of way. Andrew can see the exact moment when it hits, when they go crazy, as if their hearts are literally breaking as the rest of them stand around and watch.

Auntie Eileen screams. 

“Where is she?!” Uncle Sean yells again, grabbing Kieran by the arm. “Where’s your sister, where is she?” He’s flailing and frantic, and when he yanks Kieran, Andrew springs forward on instinct to shove himself in between them. 

Granddad is just barely holding Auntie Eileen up, letting her scream and pound her fists against his chest, and Uncle Sean falls to his knees, exhaling these heaping sobs unlike anything Andrew’s ever heard. And the truth is, Andrew wants to collapse right there next to him and cry and scream along with them for his cousin. But he’s got his arms around Kieran now, Kieran’s head resting in the crook of his neck. He’s the only one holding Kieran up. 

Dad bundles them into the car, takes them back to the house where Mam is waiting with a brew and a hot bath. She’s got tears in her eyes and a shake in her hands as she hands them each a mug, but her presence is soothing, and she runs the back of one hand down his cheek like she used to when he was small and got sick with a fever. 

They’re far too old to be sharing a bath, him and Kieran, but they strip down together like they’re four-years-old again, Andrew steadfastly averting his eyes as Kieran steps out of boxers. They leave a sopping pile of wet clothes on the tiled floor and budge up together in the tub, gangling knees poking up out of the water. 

And just like that, it’s quiet. No more noise, people shouting. It’s just the two of them and the drip of the old, leaky faucet. Andrew feels the silence like a weight in his chest, somehow heavy and painful but also a relief.

He runs his fingers through the water, watches it ripple and flow over his skin and thinks with a vague sort of wonder about how powerful it can be to rip someone away so easily.

Kieran’s breathing goes ragged after a moment, and Andrew looks up to find him shaking again, despite the heat of the water and the steam curling around them. His face is a mess of distraught, broken emotion, his eyes tightly shut and mouth gaping open. A sound, almost a whine, escapes his throat as if he’s trying desperately not to cry, and his whole body looks panicked. 

Andrew grabs his hand, his arm moving so quickly that water sloshes over the edge of the tub and onto the floor. Kieran’s fingers are clenched tight into a fist, but Andrew manages to ease it open so that he can press their palms together and weave their fingers, and when he slides his other hand over Kieran’s knee, he can hear Kieran’s breathing begin to steady and slow. 

He wants to say something stupid like _it’s okay, it’s okay_ , but he just squeezes Kieran’s knee and watches the pained lines in Kieran’s forehead, around his eyes, gentle and disappear, and all the while he finds himself counting in his head, _one, two, three, four…_ as his heart thumps heavily to his count. 

Gran gathers them up and shoves piles of dry clothes at them - long johns on top of long johns and jumpers on top of jumpers until Andrew feels smothered in wool - before bundling them into bed. Kieran doesn’t ask after his parents, just dutifully pulls back the quilt on Andrew’s bed and curls himself up on one side while Andrew takes the other. It’s a strange sensation, reminiscent of when they were eight and thought nothing of personal space, their space always shared. Except they’re not hiding with a torch and a bag of sweets under the covers, they’re not laughing through ghost stories. He’s struck with the sudden terror that he might never laugh again.

 _Mouse is dead_. He might be sick. He’ll never see her again. She really won’t ever laugh again, or tease them, or tug on Kieran’s shirt or tell them stories, she won’t ever grow up, and Andrew’s suddenly got his eyes clenched so tight that he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels Kieran’s fingers wiping tears away from his cheeks. 

Andrew opens his eyes and shuffles forward to close the small bit of space between them as Kieran withdraws his hand. They stare at each other for a long while, and it’s strange to think about how different the world suddenly is, how everything he’d thought and planned and expected is just gone. And yet here Kieran is - changed now to, just like the rest of the world, but still here with him as he’s always been for as long as Andrew can remember, the same freckles scattering his nose and the same clear, pale eyes staring back at him, the same wisps of hair falling across his forehead that Andrew tends to brush out of his eyes for him when they’re out kicking the ball around. 

When they’re out kicking the ball around with Mouse trailing behind them demanding to be allowed to play… 

“She’s dead,” Kieran says after a while, as if he can hear what Andrew’s thinking about. “She’s dead,” he says again, and brings a hand up to rub his face. Andrew reaches out to brush Kieran’s hair out of his eyes, unsure what to say. 

Kieran pushes his hand away. 

“Maybe - d’you think maybe,” Kieran asks, voice shaking, “if they go out again in the morning… she’s an okay swimmer, she’d just need to hang on a few hours…”

There’s no hope in his voice, nothing that sounds like he believes it’s possible. And it’s not, not possible at all, but Andrew shrugs awkwardly and replies, “I dunno.” And then, because he wants Kieran to be okay, wants to say something soothing, not because he actually believes it, he says, “Maybe Grandad’ll go back out tonight?” 

Kieran turns to flop on his back and that quick, panicky breathing is back. He’s gulping in breaths and hiccuping around them and Andrew tries to touch him, to calm him, but Kieran just shoves his hands away and covers his face.

“She’s _dead_ ,” he says again. “I should’ve - I had her by the hand, why didn’t I hold on?” 

There’s nothing really to say to that - everything happened so fast, fast enough that he’s having trouble remembering quite what happened. Why did they even go out there with Iris in the first place? 

“I let her go and she drowned,” Kieran goes on, voice rising. 

“No - ”

“Dad’s never going to forgive me.” The words are coming out faster now, panicked and rushed and desperate.

Andrew pushes himself up on one elbow so he can lean over Kieran, grasp Kieran’s wrist - but it’s all wrong, it seems, because Kieran huffs out a watery breath and pushes him away again. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” he says, harsh. Agonized. There’s a chasm of pain in Andrew’s chest that’s growing wider with each grief-filled breath Kieran takes in. “You - you pulled me back,” Kieran says as he sits up, looking like he might be ready to bolt out of the bed at any moment. 

“Yeah.” 

He’d grabbed onto Kieran’s wrist, yanked him out of the water, and then again when Kieran’d let go of the boat to reach out for Mouse, and Andrew didn’t know what to do, couldn’t get to Mouse, couldn’t let go of the boat but couldn’t let go of Kieran,

 _Stay together lads,_ Granddad had said after, when they were huddled in the boat, and that was always the way of it with the two of them, before anyone ever had to tell them. They always stuck together. 

Kieran says, “I could’ve gotten her,” and it sounds like an accusation. 

Andrew pushes himself further up so that they’re sitting face to face, and he shakes his head. “No, she was - ”

“She was right there and I could’ve made it!”

“The water was too much, you couldn’t’ve made that swim,” Andrew tells him, his own voice raising to match the frantic tone of Kieran’s.

“I’ve always been a better swimmer than you,” Kieran says angrily, pointing a finger at Andrew’s chest. “And you know it. And I could’ve made it but _you_ pulled me back!”

“I pulled you _out_!” 

“You should’ve let me go,” Kieran spits out at him, furious now. Andrew has no idea how they’ve landed here, what’s going on. 

“So your mam and dad could have two dead kids instead’a one?” Andrew fires back, ignoring the sting of guilt at thinking of Mouse that way so he can take a brief moment of satisfaction when Kieran’s head cocks back like he’s been struck.

And then Kieran’s launching himself across the small space between them with an angry grunt so he can shove Andrew backwards, and Andrew grabs onto Kieran’s forearms so that they both go tumbling backwards off the bed and land in a heap on the floor with a loud _thud_ and a sting to Andrew’s backside.

“ _Arsehole_ ,” Kieran hisses at him as he shoves Andrew against the hardwood floor. 

Andrew shoves him backwards and gives him an elbow to the chest. “Fuck off!” 

They grapple and wrestle with each other - Kieran flips them over so that Andrew’s back to lying on his back with Kieran looming over him, hands gripping Andrew’s arms tight enough to bruise, before Andrew manages to wrench one free and shove his fist into Kieran’s chin with a satisfying whack. Kieran’s head knocks backward for a moment and Andrew takes the opportunity to shove him off just before Kieran throws a punch at Andrew’s chest, knocking the wind out of him briefly. 

“You should’ve let me go!” Kieran yells, leaning up into Andrew’s face as he tries to wrestle Andrew back to the floor. 

“I could _never’ve_ let you go!” Andrew screams back, shoving until he’s got Kieran splayed flat on his back, his hands pressing Kieran’s shoulders down hard against the floor and his knees settled on either side of Kieran’s hips. 

And he means it, so painfully and seriously and desperately that his chest aches with it.

Kieran’s still struggling against him, his hands balled into fists and tangled in the hem of Andrew’s jumper, yanking it to try and shove Andrew off of him - or maybe pull him closer, Andrew’s not really sure. 

“But we let _her_ go,” Kieran says, and even though he’s still just on the edge of shouting, it’s more sad than anything else. “We were always supposed to look out for her and _we let her go_!” 

“She was too far!” Andrew shouts back at him, wanting to cry and sob and wanting again to bury his face in Kieran’s neck. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I couldn’t let go of you too,” he babbles out.

And then he shoves himself forward and presses his mouth against Kieran’s. 

If Kieran’s shocked, he’s over it in a flash, because he’s moving his mouth against Andrew’s and tugging at Andrew’s jumper to pull him in closer. Andrew’s never, ever thought about this, but now he can’t stop, can’t stop his hands from shoving up under Kieran’s shirt to touch him, skin to skin, and can’t stop his mouth from moving awkwardly against Kieran’s and even if he’s never really thought about this before, it somehow feels like this was always where they were meant to end up. 

They’ve always stuck together.

It’s always been the four of them, almost as long as Andrew can remember - him and Kieran and Dermott and Mouse - but somehow Andrew and Kieran always stuck side-by-side, Kieran the one that Andrew’s eyes are drawn to whenever they’re in the same room, Kieran the one who stares back at him. 

He’s really not quite sure what to do. He knows, theoretically, that kissing should amount to a little more than just mashing their lips together, but he just can’t bring himself to care, doesn’t want to slow down and figure this out, desperately does not want to think too hard about what they’re doing and how horrible and wrong it probably is.

Kieran makes a sound against his mouth when Andrew presses his hands against Kieran’s sides, and then bites down accidentally on Kieran’s lip. In truth, he doesn’t have much experience with this, and he feels awkward and kind of stupid, but it’s better than what he’s been feeling ever since they were pulled from the water, so he chases after Kieran’s mouth when Keiran pulls back a bit and lets himself be tugged in when Kieran pulls him so that their legs get tangled up and they’re pressed together everywhere and _oh_ , it feels so good. 

It feels so, so good, the first good thing he’s felt since - he can’t, he can’t think about any of that, all he can think of is how Kieran’s skin feels under his hands and about Kieran’s fingers digging into his sides, about his dick getting hard as he rubs up against Kieran. He stops to pull back just a little, just enough to yank the jumper over his head, suddenly too hot after hours of being so cold, and there’s too many things happening at once, too many sensations jumbled all together.

But Kieran leans up to kiss him again, fumbling and a little uncomfortable. Andrew’s not quite sure what it’s _supposed_ to feel like, but he doesn’t ever want to stop. He wants to touch Kieran everywhere, and pretty much as soon as he manages to shove a hand down beneath the waist of Kieran’s long johns, Kieran’s letting out a groan and biting Andrew’s lip as he comes. 

Andrew’s had plenty a wank, even once or twice with Kieran and Dermott in the room doing the same, but never like this, never pressed up against someone so close that he can smell their skin, and he presses himself forward so he can settled fully against Kieran and feel Kieran’s harsh panting. Everything is so twisted and wrong tonight, the whole world suddenly changed, but Kieran is still here, and it’s a desperate sort of comfort that Andrew feels when Kieran’s arms come up around him. Kieran is still here, still alive, and he’s bereft at the thought that he’ll never see Mouse again, but if he’d lose Kieran, he’s pretty sure he’d stop breathing altogether. 

He comes with a hand down his own long johns and Kieran’s lips against his throat, Kieran’s hands in his hair, and they lay still just like that for several long moments of silence punctuated by heavy, harsh breaths. 

They’re cousins. Their mothers are sisters. They’ve grown up closer than brothers, and Andrew’s never spared a thought for even a passing interest in boys. 

But he wants to do that again.

When the chill in the air grows too insistent Andrew pulls himself away and gets to his feet, extending a hand to pull Kieran up after him. There’s nothing really to say - he’s not sure how to articulate what he wants, what he needs, especially when Mouse is still dead and everything feels so unknown. But perhaps he doesn’t need to. 

Kieran leans forward to kiss Andrew, and it’s slower, calmer than before. He holds onto Andrew’s shoulders and the press of his mouth against Andrew’s is soft, quiet somehow. Andrew ventures to open his mouth just a bit, and when their lips slide together he thinks, vaguely, _Oh!_ and it’s weird and perfect.

Kieran breaks the kiss without another word and turns to get back in bed, shuffling awkwardly on his knees to the other side to give Andrew space to climb in after him.

Nothing more is said for the rest of the night, but when Andrew, still awake some hours later, hears soft, wet sniffling coming from Kieran’s side of the bed, he slides his arm around Kieran’s middle and cuddles up behind him and hangs on until morning.


End file.
